‘Let me have your number. I’ll ask, but I doubt anyone knows. No offence but she wasn’t exactly the most likable person.’

‘Oh, right.’ Back home, Dina always had a chip on her shoulder. She was never easy to get on with. But I somehow assumed that after she went off travelling, she’d managed to find some peace. That she was off having fun. I’m a little sad to discover she hadn’t been liked. At least not by these guys. Sure, her messages to me are never particularly long. And they’re mainly in response to me checking to see if she’s okay. But I always imagined she was having a good time – making friends, having amazing experiences, maybe even finding love or romance. To hear this guy speak so badly of her makes me feel a bit sad, and defensive on her behalf.

‘Sorry,’ the man sounds apologetic. ‘You’re her sister, I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘I know she might not be the most outgoing person in the world but, like you said, she is my sister, so I’d like to know that she’s okay.’

‘Yeah, of course. I’ll ask around. I’m Matt, by the way. What’s your number?’

I give him my details and hang up, not holding out much hope that he’ll call me back. I wonder if it’s true that she came back to the UK last year. Or maybe it’s just what she told him. If they weren’t friends, then it’s quite probable she lied about coming home. When I last spoke to Dina before the wedding, she was apologetic about not being able to fly back, so I’m sure she was still in Thailand. But what if she was lying to me? What if she’s in England and she doesn’t want me to know?

Seventeen

NOW

I take the phone from Jennifer and look down at the screen. It’s Cassie’s regular online magazine column. My heart plummets as I read the headline:

When Hairdressers Attack

Below are side-by-side colour photos of Cassie Barrington – one of her looking happy and glamorous with her long golden locks. The other of her wearing a crumpled sweatshirt and no make-up, looking glum with her new short haircut that’s completely messed up and un-styled. My whole body fills with reluctant understanding and dread as I start to read: